When I left the fires of the first wagons, I wandered among the many lanes. My path meandering, but ultimately leading me towards the wagons beyond those of the Ubar's first. When I had left Lazlo, the companion of my sister, was not part of the Ubar's favored. Their wagons lay beyond that inner circle, as did my own. Although, over the long length of my life I have earned many scars and even won the command of a Thousand, I had never moved my wagons to those of the first. In the past, many have questioned this. But only a few know why it was to be. And that explination will not find its way to the parchment I write upon now.
I came across many a face that I recalled. Warriors that I had shed blood with. Women I had teased as a youth and defended from raids as a man. I spoke with them all, not realizing how many ahns had passed. At last I inquired about Lazlo and his daughter. I saw the changes in their faces as they spoke of Lazlo, but all they would say was that Seveya had gone to seek her place in the first wagons. I was pleased to hear this news, but I didn't miss how those I spoke with avoided the topic of my old friend Lazlo. I didn't press them for those answers, only made my way back to the first wagons to search for my family.
As it would happen, I came upon the painter. I had seen her on the plains one night, collecting roots for her pigments. She was beyond the bosk herds, although we could still hear their calling in the distance. There was something familiar about the girl, but in the dark I couldn't place what. We only spoke briefly. I got the distinct impression that she was somewhere she was not supposed to be.
But I digress.
I came upon the painter. She was wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the platform of her steps, stargazing. I asked her if I had found the wagons of Lazlo. She confirmed this and asked who I was. There was also a change in her demeanor. As if speaking my old friends name was somehow taboo. Without telling her who I was, I called on her to get my friend, "the old man" as I often called him.
As a point of interest, this was a joke between us. I was several decades Lazlo's senior, but I often referred to him as the older one.
The girl, who was older than a child but still didn't wear the nose ring of a woman, stiffened and, if looks could wound I would have needed a healer! But the news she told me hurt far more than the scathing look she gave me. Lazlo was dead. Passed several hands ago. My friend, my oldest and dearest friend, the companion of my sister, was riding free in the Sky. I didn't try to conceal my sudden pain or surprise from the girl and I'm sure she saw it.
There was a bit of commotion at this point. A woman who I had met at the fires, her name Kaeli, was sneaking about in the shadows of the wagons. While I had no concern that the cloaked figure I saw posed no threat, I could not resist the temptation of cornering the sneaking one. And during my confrontation with the Healer, while Seveya was looking on, I purposefully let it slip from lips. I asked the Healer what business she had with my niece.
I'm sure it was all quite a shock to Seveya. Her mother having died just before I left the harigga. Her father passing just hands ago. It was clear she didn't recall me from her childhood memories. Not that I can blame her. I scarcely recall my own childhood now. But there was a relief and a joy in her eyes when she finally came to believe that I spoke truthfully. I had an idea where those emotions came from. Seveya realized that she was no longer the last. She had family yet living.
And I must say that I shared her joy. I had never taken a woman for myself. I had no sons or daughters of my own. When Seveya was born I had taken to her strongly. I often thought of her as my own, rather than a niece. With her father I taught her the saddle of the kaiila. We began to teach her the bow and quiva, that she might defend the wagons with the rest of the women, should raiders breach the lines of the warriors. And now, some 20 years old herself, I could see traces of my beloved Satirri and Lazlo in her face. They both rode together in the Sky, but in their daughter they still lived. I was joyful to embrace my niece once more.
And tomorrow, I will ride out on the plains. I will offer prayer to the Sky and speak my goodbyes to Lazlo.
I came across many a face that I recalled. Warriors that I had shed blood with. Women I had teased as a youth and defended from raids as a man. I spoke with them all, not realizing how many ahns had passed. At last I inquired about Lazlo and his daughter. I saw the changes in their faces as they spoke of Lazlo, but all they would say was that Seveya had gone to seek her place in the first wagons. I was pleased to hear this news, but I didn't miss how those I spoke with avoided the topic of my old friend Lazlo. I didn't press them for those answers, only made my way back to the first wagons to search for my family.
As it would happen, I came upon the painter. I had seen her on the plains one night, collecting roots for her pigments. She was beyond the bosk herds, although we could still hear their calling in the distance. There was something familiar about the girl, but in the dark I couldn't place what. We only spoke briefly. I got the distinct impression that she was somewhere she was not supposed to be.
But I digress.
I came upon the painter. She was wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the platform of her steps, stargazing. I asked her if I had found the wagons of Lazlo. She confirmed this and asked who I was. There was also a change in her demeanor. As if speaking my old friends name was somehow taboo. Without telling her who I was, I called on her to get my friend, "the old man" as I often called him.
As a point of interest, this was a joke between us. I was several decades Lazlo's senior, but I often referred to him as the older one.
The girl, who was older than a child but still didn't wear the nose ring of a woman, stiffened and, if looks could wound I would have needed a healer! But the news she told me hurt far more than the scathing look she gave me. Lazlo was dead. Passed several hands ago. My friend, my oldest and dearest friend, the companion of my sister, was riding free in the Sky. I didn't try to conceal my sudden pain or surprise from the girl and I'm sure she saw it.
There was a bit of commotion at this point. A woman who I had met at the fires, her name Kaeli, was sneaking about in the shadows of the wagons. While I had no concern that the cloaked figure I saw posed no threat, I could not resist the temptation of cornering the sneaking one. And during my confrontation with the Healer, while Seveya was looking on, I purposefully let it slip from lips. I asked the Healer what business she had with my niece.
I'm sure it was all quite a shock to Seveya. Her mother having died just before I left the harigga. Her father passing just hands ago. It was clear she didn't recall me from her childhood memories. Not that I can blame her. I scarcely recall my own childhood now. But there was a relief and a joy in her eyes when she finally came to believe that I spoke truthfully. I had an idea where those emotions came from. Seveya realized that she was no longer the last. She had family yet living.
And I must say that I shared her joy. I had never taken a woman for myself. I had no sons or daughters of my own. When Seveya was born I had taken to her strongly. I often thought of her as my own, rather than a niece. With her father I taught her the saddle of the kaiila. We began to teach her the bow and quiva, that she might defend the wagons with the rest of the women, should raiders breach the lines of the warriors. And now, some 20 years old herself, I could see traces of my beloved Satirri and Lazlo in her face. They both rode together in the Sky, but in their daughter they still lived. I was joyful to embrace my niece once more.
And tomorrow, I will ride out on the plains. I will offer prayer to the Sky and speak my goodbyes to Lazlo.
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